


dirge

by meltingmoment



Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: Animal Death, Animal Sacrifice, Cults, Dubious Consent, F/M, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 18:49:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20119942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltingmoment/pseuds/meltingmoment
Summary: dirge: a lament for the dead, especially one forming part of a funeral rite.post-midsommar. dani learns and pelle waits.





	dirge

_dirge_

_ _

_ **“If I were to go away would you follow me to the ends of the earth to show me what your love is worth?”** _

_-Vashti Bunyan, “If I Were”_

* * *

He found himself waiting. Anticipating her name on the lips of others, to walk through a door at a party, for her to pause and smile at _him_. He was mostly able to avoid her, busying himself with Josh and his obnoxious questions about Hårga rituals, or Mark who was eager to laugh and leer at just about anything. Sometimes, he forgot, and would skim her form in pure appreciation. Blinded by the warmth of her beauty, even in the perpetual winter that is America (and even later, even bedraggled in her unyielding grief). He was unable to stop his hand from clenching whenever he saw her look to Christian, her eyes soft and milk-eyed.

In these times, he would remind himself of Ingemar, whose failure to return with his heart’s affection were solely due to his inability to bide his time. His lack of foresight meant he would not introduce diversity into the bloodlines of the community. But Pelle, he knew better. He saw the importance of rationing kind words here and there for Dani, but otherwise maintaining a cool distance, appearing agreeable when Christian would share his desire to break it off with her. He sowed those seeds painstakingly slowly, gently.

More importantly, Pelle got lucky. He could not have anticipated the manner in which Dani would lose her family; yet Christian staying out of obligation was to be expected. He continued to sow, as he had done time and time again in the springs and summers in Sweden. He was patient, and he could continue to be until the moment was right. The stars could not say it truer, a girl born of water and soft-shell, lapping at horns and girding the earth of him.

*

“Welcome home.”

Dani thought back to those words often. At the time, in a valley floodlit by the sun and white dresses, she had barely given it consideration, thinking it a nice gesture.

But they were only spoken to her.

*

Dani slept more soundly than she had in years the night following the barn burning. Bright day still shone as she was eased from her cage of flowers, women who soothed her, helped her, yet whose names she did not know (but she would). No Ativan freely given by Josh, yet she barely could think as she crawled naked under covers. She did not see Pelle at the entrance of the hall, wolfish in wait.

She felt eyes watching as she woke the following day, but when she opened her eyes he was turned away from her.

*

“Til árs ok friðar!”

Siv raised her glass, and watched as a procession of glasses were raised in wake. Dani dully raised hers, aware the festival did not end with the pyre, but unaware how many days had even passed since. The eternal sun confounding. Her throat still raw from ululating.

_Blót_. To sacrifice, to worship. Dani had learned that word from Karin, whose eyes would flit from her to Pelle when they spoke. Pelle had not drifted too far from Dani since she sent her lover to be sacrificed to flames. In the corner of her eye, he was there. Now, sat beside her, his hand rested on his thigh and she was hyperaware of the pinky finger gently reaching to catch the skin of her leg. He was not looking at her (for once).

She drank more of the orange liquid and continued to watch the mountains curl into each other, and the flowers open and close as if they were speaking to her. She did not know if they offered comfort or a warning.

As May Queen, she had been shown how to deliver a killing blow to a pig. (Swift stab to the throat with a knife that was no less than six inches long, so it would bleed out quickly. Karin below her, catching the hot blood so it may be sprinkled at alters of worship. Dani learned the names of these gods, and other words in a tongue she never thought she’d learn.)

The praise was laid on slick and sweet for the fair May Queen. How well she wielded a knife, how naturally her tongue wrapped around difficult vowels, giving her writing material so that she may study their language peppered with endless umlauts. Men gazed upon her, desire thick. She had never particularly noticed the way men looked at her, perhaps because she had been wrapped up in a man with copper hair and eyes so blue (and grief. Grief which isolates.) Women taught her their names in whispers, and yet, they all shot knowing looks to each other.

Another day passed before Siv called for her.

A match between desired constellations.

Dani knew it was coming.

*

Pelle did not truly know Dani. He knew her as a devoted girlfriend to Christian, desperate to captain and save a sinking ship. He had waited and watched, thinking of himself as a knight who would rescue her from a sea of grief, giving her community and the comfort of his touch. She was to be his reward for a successful pilgrimage. Green Man and May Queen.

Dani saw it plain as day. His desires imprinted upon her, as his perfect May Queen. She began to think back to how Pelle’s gaze was unchanged from their time in America; he had always looked at her with yearning. But they had been briefer back then, easier to ignore – besides, Christian didn’t notice, nor did Josh and Mark. They barely noticed Dani, but Pelle always had.

She thought how easy it would be to allow him to collect her. Strong arms and kind eyes which led everyone else to their deaths. Had she not still smelled burning bodies and cold ash, she might have felt special to be wanted so.

His want, his kindness had a terrible price.

*

Pelle’s lips upon hers; hot and fast. Her moans echoed, her skin softer than swansdown. Inside of her, holding her close.

Dani had been bitter at first, calling him selfish. She had spat filth at him for a time, but once cajoled, he saw that how eager she was for tenderness. She melted into his embrace, and arched into him just right.

Pelle had waited in the wings, so he could clip hers.

**Author's Note:**

> "Til árs ok friðar" = "For a good year and peace"


End file.
